ACTOR 1: We’re not gonna let you send us away anymore. I, we, all of us… refuse …to go away. (pause) How’s that?

DIRECTOR: Yes I am. How old are you? 12? Jesus Christ. Get the fuck outta here. Do you people even read the notices? Next!

ACTOR 2: Morgan Van Morgan. Actor. Singer. Wordsmith. I’ll be doing a piece from "Little Jimmy’s Gone A-Huntin’." I think you’re gonna like it. "My, my, little Jimmy. What do you got there? What’s that, little Jimmy? A gun? Be careful, it could es-plode. Bang.

ACTOR 3: Hi. I’m ******. That’s right, ladies. I want you to go out there and kill! Don’t just hurt him, end him! I want to see corpses out there! I want the field to look like Omaha Beach when we’re through! I want broken ribs, shredded tendons, and punctured spleens. Defense, you don’t just separate the man from the ball, you separate the man from his HEAD!

DIRECTOR: Oh, wait. I get it. You’re a mental-challenged person who will randomly yell "sometimes" to elicit a few laughs and then at the last minute will break out into a monologue to voice a common yet unspoken belief or truism. This is done on behalf of the author who refuses to speak his mind through any standard character he writes about but instead chooses to slip quote-unquote deep messages into an otherwise stereotypical comedic sketch about a retard. Am I right?

MAX: (thinks, is about to concede the point. Then.) Sometiiiiiiiiimes! Sometimes the last thing we say is not only---

ACTRESS 10: You want me to go when I’m ready. Trying to put things on my terms. When, in fact, it never will be on my terms. I can get up here and deliver the most brilliant performance in the world and it still would not be on my terms. You hold all the power sitting back there in the comfort of your anonymous darkness. And you wield it casually and carelessly, never realizing the hopes and dreams that you so recklessly crush with a single word spoken from the safety of the shadows. And although you will spout the rhetoric of solidarity with struggling actor to all your friends as you sit dining on spring nut salads and sipping the oh-so-chic drink-of-the-day, the truth is you haven’t the slightest idea what it’s like to stand alone under the bright light burning a solo spot in an otherwise darkened theatre, and to hope… so desperately… to make a good impression as you lay bear the very heart and soul of yourself that is, ironically enough the only thing you have precious enough in your life to hold onto at all. And yet, you lay it all out there, hoping for approval of some sort from a disembodied voice in the dark. And it’s so very easy for you to sit out there and make your decisions so frivolously, and cut our dreams short so quickly, while we labor away tirelessly and without much hope to begin with, for a small sign of acceptance that will get us through the next 3-4 weeks, at which time we have to start from scratch and go out and humble ourselves again seeking the next round of pats on the back from another hollow voice from the very back row. And while I can stand up here and tell you all this and it might sound meaningful and poignant, we all know that it’ll only be remembered as a "dark" or solemn statement made at the end of a semi-funny sketch about people auditioning and getting shooed offstage by a pirate. Because although I’m saying all this and I truly mean it, you, of course, are ultimately gonna have the last word in this scene. Which is gonna be an attempt to close out things with a laugh and to force some humor into an uncomfortable moment on stage. And maybe it’ll work for you and maybe it won’t. But remember this: you won’t have the last word in our lives. We’re not gonna let you send us away anymore. I, we, all of us… refuse …to go away. Okay? Okay. Now, I’m ready. Go ahead.